


Mistletoe

by Sanra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3501278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanra/pseuds/Sanra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had served in the Order together, and that seemed to be their natural state — fighting, wands in motion, multicolored flashes of spells lighting up their visages. Adrenalized and breathless, they were safe with each other, ready always to defend and protect. This new place, this decadent balcony where she found herself in too small a dress giggling at everything this gentle werewolf said… this was the unknown. Tonks felt more exposed here than she did fighting the dark lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

It was bitterly cold as cars whizzed by Grimmauld Place, spewing exhaust in steady streams of cloud. Her hurried breath floated out in the same manner. The long leather trench coat Tonks wore scarcely kept the gooseflesh from puckering on her skin, scantily clad as she was underneath. It was a rare choice of attire for the tomboyish witch, and she sprang up the stairs of the entryway in search of warmth. 

It was Severus who opened the door, but Molly Weasley who rushed out with open arms. The lively thrum of holiday music and laughter rang out from within.

Lupin, with his sandy hair and smiling eyes, swept snowflakes from her shoulders. This warmed her; so did the belly-laughs brought on by his hideous Christmas jumper, adorned with bells that jingled to the music.

Purple and black striped hair made her eyes catch the light. Tonks had transformed her features to match her dress, a strappy frock that hugged her body. She had dressed to impress someone, and was now determined never to do so again. It revealed her décolletage — and, at just the right angles, the soft curves of her chest. Lupin was caught glancing down the neckline more than once. “My eyes are up _here_ ,” she teased, tipping his chin upward with a thin finger and meeting his gaze. 

They had served in the Order together, and that seemed to be their natural state — fighting, wands in motion, multicolored flashes of spells lighting up their visages. Adrenalized and breathless, they were safe with each other, ready always to defend and protect. This new place, this decadent balcony where she found herself in too small a dress giggling at everything this gentle werewolf said… _this_ was the unknown. Tonks felt more exposed here than she did fighting the dark lord.

Lupin sensed this, and summed it up quite simply: “You don’t know how to act at these things, do you?”

He had a way of softening the truth. Something in the creases of his eyes.

Tonks clinked her glass against his. “An astute observation.” She took a swig of her cocktail, cherry-red and sweet, with a fake sprig of mistletoe garnishing the rim.

“Drinking won’t make it easier,” he said, absentmindedly swirling his wine inside the glass. 

“Of course it will.” Tonks gave a half-grin and chuckled at the obviousness of this statement. She crossed her arms and pouted playfully, “You’re avoiding the party just as much as I am.”

“Perhaps I’m choosing to keep you company.”

Tonks laughed, and Lupin took another sip of his drink. “That’s generous of you. Keeping the lonely, awkward girl from feeling lonely and awkward.”

“You’re anything but,” said Lupin softly.

“Well," she conceded, "I do enjoy your company." She wanted to make a joke, so very badly, but that was just another wall to hide behind. She had to let her guard down at some point. 

“Let’s go inside,” said Lupin, staying quite still. She tried, but couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. “It’s getting…”

“Cold,” she finished.

They looked at one another, and she could sense that the moment was gone. It _was_ very cold. They would be better off indoors, mingling with the other guests, celebrating the holidays like anyone normal would do — not hiding away on someone’s balcony.

Tonks turned from Lupin’s eyes to the distant city lights, taking in the view for one last time. “Oh!” she gasped suddenly, pointing.

A tawny mail owl flapped its wings speedily toward them, a parcel tied round its leg. Tonks retreated from the metal railing, her back against Lupin’s chest — his arms wrapped instinctively around her her, the wind from the owl’s wings sweeping Tonks’ violet hair upon his cheeks.

“Thank you…” she said, when the owl caught its balance on the thin metal rail. “Is this for us?” The bird of prey bowed politely in response, presenting a clawed leg to her. She removed the parcel, a small brown envelope, and Lupin dropped a couple of Knuts in the owl’s bag for payment.

“Who is it from?”

“There’s no name…”

Tonks slit the envelope with a fingernail and removed the letter within, reading it silently. Indeed, there was no sign of a sender and not much of a message.

As she read, the owl lowered its beak, nipped at the mistletoe in her glass, and knocked it to the ground — the wine glass crashed and shattered on the terra-cotta tiles, and the bird leapt upward in a flurry of wind and wings. Tonks gave a helpless squeal as the owl left her disheveled, perching high upon the nearest windowsill.

Lupin, who had pulled her close protectively, disentangled himself from Tonks and tried unsuccessfully to contain his laughter. She stood frozen, hair in a tousled mess, covered in alcohol.

“This is funny to you, is it? Does my discomfort bring you joy?” she asked sarcastically, blowing wild strands of hair out of her eyes. She examined her clothing — the fancy short dress was now spattered in dark red stains, and indeed a few drops of the sweet drink had slipped down through the neckline.

“It does,” said Lupin, grinning boyishly. 

The owl gave a low _hoot_ , and they both looked skyward.

Just visible in the moonlight, directly above them, hung the sprig of mistletoe from the owl’s beak.

Tonks’ breath caught in her throat. She flushed bright pink, and gave a helpless giggle.

Lupin was looking directly at it, too. He lowered his head, and their eyes met.

There was a long silence — through the balcony door, the hum of voices and holiday song was a world apart. Lupin studied her with a soft green gaze.

Without words or thoughts, she felt his hands brush against her sides. They settled on her waist, and she reached up to stroke the back of his neck, their lips meeting somewhere in the middle.

And then Lupin was kissing her. 

 _Lupin._  

Her eyes drifted open, and there were his sandy eyelashes all flared out on his cheeks.

Tonks’ grip on the letter loosened — down it fell from her thin hands, forgotten. It floated carelessly from the balcony into a flower patch below.

 

 

The letter would not be retrieved from the gardens until sometime in January, when Kreacher — pruning the rose bushes — pricked a knobby finger while fishing it out among the thorns. 

It read, in perfect script:

 

_Happy Christmas!_

 


End file.
